Move
by Nesloga
Summary: The same words were heard around the world, "I believe in Sherlock Holmes."


_Word Count: 1,302_  
_A/N: Day nine of a Writing Challenge_  
_Summary: The same words were heard around the world, "I believe in Sherlock Holmes." _

**Move**

Jack wasn't sure how this had happened; one moment he had been antagonizing the Easter Kangaroo and the next he was locked in an apartment with only the picture of a brunet and a man in a suit for company. The mad man that had caught him- Jerald? Jacob? Jamal? Had shoved him into the blank room, a smile flashing across his face as he raved about how, 'Sherlock will absolutely love this!'

The man- Jan? Janell? Jameson? Had hurriedly explained to Jack that he was not to move, that he was going to be a gift for his _dear_ Sherlock. And if Sherlock couldn't see him, well, a few blizzards in Africa would change that. The man- this was getting ridiculous, Jack would just make up a name for the criminal. Suit, he was Suit now. Suit had gone off after that, gushing about his dear Sherlock and how the detective was his other half. The thing that he, Suit, had been missing his entire life. He dramatically painted a picture with his words; creating an image of a lonely man, a man with no challenger, who finally found _The One_ in a not-quite heartless consulting detective.

"And Sherlock, well, Sherlock is _almost_ perfect. You see, he sides with the angels. And he and I, we really shouldn't side with a single group. It hampers us, slows us down. Sure, we've both found a niche, but those niches won't last forever. One day, all of Sherlock's little pets will turn on him. I _know_ they will." At that point Jack tuned Suit out, he'd rather stare at the boring walls then see the twisted glint in Suit's eyes when he mentioned this 'Sherlock' and his -apparently- eminent fall from grace.

At Jack's silence Suit merely waved a uncaring hand in the air, not really bothered by the fact that his mythical guest wasn't paying attention. "So I'm going to show Sherlock something, I'm going to give him a gift. I'm going to give him _you_. It'll be the prequel of his downfall, because you're trapped right now. A myth, a _fairy tale_." Here, Suit began to giggle uncontrollably. "With you gone the world is in crisis, the snow won't fall and the cold won't come. It's November and not a snowflake has fallen yet, people are starting to get nervous. And if Sherlock is given a clue, a tidbit of information, he might just _search_. He'll search for you if the right rumor gets out, if the right message is leaked. What do you think? I give Sherlock a month to figure it all out and to find you, and if he can't do it, if he fails. Then I break your staff, burn the pieces, and let the world _crumble_."

Jack flinched at that, break his staff? Go right ahead, he could mend it in a moment. But burning it, lighting the crook on fire and letting it turn into ash. That might just destroy him, after all, every spirit had a weakness. His turned out to be his staff, and destroying it may just destroy him. "I think, that you're a lunatic. And that's saying something, because I've met _Pitch_; and Pitch, Pitch is the Boogeyman."

His captor smiled at him then, eyes twinkling with mischief and Jack finally understood what the rabbit meant when he said that Jack's eyes unnerved him when he was thinking up pranks; Suit's eyes were terrifying in a way that Pitch could never be.

"So the Boogeyman actually exists? I had thought, but I was never sure. Actually, I wasn't even sure about you. You're a fairy tale, you know? A mere tale told to children. But I had a realization the other day, that if I can make myself into a mere myth, who's to say that the _myths_ aren't true?"

Suit leaned forwards then, his smile becoming even brighter as the glint in his eyes turned sinister. "This is going to be the event that begins the final game, with this Sherlock and I will start to shape history! Aren't you glad that you're part of it? This will get you billions of believers!"

Jack snarled then, twisting around to glare at his captor. "I don't need your help, I can make people believe without any outside interference!"

Suit tsked while shaking his head sadly, "Now that's no fun. I thought you'd be more interesting, being a spirit and all. But you're just as dull as the rest of them, just as boring." Suit paused, as if thinking about something, before brightening considerably. "But that's why you're just bait! You aren't Sherlock after all, I can't expect much from you."

The man went quiet then, content with what he had just said. After all, he had told the winter spirit all about Sherlock; and surely Jack Frost, the Guardian of Fun, could see how fun Sherlock was!

"Why are you trying so hard anyway? Is this Sherlock really worth it?"

Suit went stock still, his limbs that had been previously relaxed locked into place, his face devoid of all emotion. All this was ruined though as he hissed and his face contorted with fury. "How _dare_ you, Sherlock is the only one that matters! He is the only one that can possibly think to match _me_! Me, James Moriarty, I became a consulting criminal because of him!" Suit- James, he finally had a name, he might as well use it. Grabbed him by his shoulders and squeezed, ignoring the icy chill that had to be invading his hands the criminal shook him. As if shaking him could make him see sense.

Once James finished shaking him ice cold hands dropped and Suit relaxed again. He reclined in a chair that with a snap of his fingers a lackey brought in. "Jack, Jack, Jack. Sherlock is the best thing in this world, he's entertaining! He's managed to solve every one of my puzzles so far, and he handled each one with delicious aplomb."

Jack held his tongue, refusing to talk to or acknowledge the psychopath. He didn't want to see that fury again; it had been wild, feral, and uncultivated in a way that screamed at Jack's sense of survival. That fury had been the sign of a predator, something to be feared.

So Jack and James sat in silence, with James occasionally leaving to conduct business. But the criminal always came back, he always returned to make sure that the spirit hadn't disappeared. He sat by Jack day after day, obsessively talking about _Sherlock_. And one day, when the criminal didn't return Jack blinked and stood. He touched the door that had always been locked and found it open, he stepped out and walked towards his staff. Feeling the pull that had been tugging at him during his captivity. He found his staff and smiled, grabbing the crook before leaving the building with a whoop. Laughter echoing in the winds as he turned and flew and had fun.

For the first time in a year snow fell, the frozen water blanketed the world in white- even Africa had a slight dusting. And all around the world a single sentence was heard, _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_. No one could place where they had heard the voice coming from, they could only describe it. It was happy, it was awestruck, it was _fun_.

—-

Sherlock Holmes sat in his favorite chair in his flat, ignoring the inquiring stare from John as his name floated on the winds. John didn't need to know what Moriarty had done for his first move, he didn't need to know about Jack Frost. All he needed to know was that the game was afoot and that the stakes were a bit higher then Sherlock had previously thought.


End file.
